Dancing in the Dark
by DreamingAngelWolf
Summary: In a world of war and control, where the less fortunate suffer and others are hand-picked for greatness, two young men try to catch their moments together and find a way to escape the restrictions imposed on both of them - no matter what the cost. (Bucky/Toro, alternate universe)


**AN: **Thought I'd put this up between working on bigger things. That, and there is a woeful lack of new Bucky/Toro stuff! Admittedly, this one is a little strange - and chapter two is bugging the bejesus out of me - but it's something I needed to get out of my head. Can't say when ch. 2 will be up, but it's not so bad as a single chapter atm.

(Title from Bruce Springsteen's song of the same name.)

* * *

Dancing in the Dark

**Chapter 1**

"We shouldn't be doing this."

Ignoring the comment (he says it every time they meet) Bucky grabs Toro's wrist and pulls him into the alley, leading him down it until they're well covered by the shadows and pushing him against the grey concrete wall. "Don't care," he says, going in for a kiss.

"But we could get caught."

Leaning back, Bucky gives him an exasperated look. "If that truly bothers you, why do you keep agreeing to this?"

Toro looks uncomfortable as he shrugs. "Dunno." He rubs the back of his head. "I mean, I get worried if I don't… I always think someone's handed you in, and then I can't… Jim can see right through me, but he doesn't know it's you, and I came so close to telling him but the idea that he might tell someone else scares me 'cause I don't want to be the reason you end up being re-obtained." It all comes out in a rush, and he looks slightly panicked when he's finished, as if saying it will make it so.

Luckily, Bucky doesn't believe in fate or destiny or some sort of spiritual cause and effect. "That's sweet," he says, smirking, "but you're worrying too much. As usual."

"You'd be far too reckless if one of us didn't worry," Toro retorts, something akin to fondness in his eyes.

Bucky grins, leans closer, and relishes in the way that fondness grows into desire. "Live a little, Toro," he breathes, and closes the distance at last.

Kissing is wonderful; to a young man who has gone just over twenty years without being able to indulge in the experience, who has had to listen to memories and stories, and try to imagine the feelings that can't be described, it's almost as good as sex itself. Kissing Toro, however, is like nothing Bucky could ever have dreamed of. He is warm, so warm, and every breath they share is like fire on Bucky's skin but he loves it – craves it, even. It doesn't help that they fit together perfectly, naturally matching each other limb for limb, because that means that Bucky can feel every centimetre of warmth radiating through Toro's clothes and he wants more; he wants to get out of this back alley to a place with a bed where he can get rid of the layers between them and feel that heat directly on his skin. For Bucky, who knows the cold like he knows his way around a sniper rifle, kissing Toro is the closest he'll ever get to the sun.

After a few long minutes (too brief, even as the seconds stack up) of lips and tongues, Bucky convinces Toro to take their meeting someplace else, where privacy won't be an issue and they can give in to stronger desires. Like every time they do this, Toro tries to protest, but against a determined, heat-craving Bucky such excuses are wasted ammunition. They take the quickest route back, even though it means traversing the high street and risking being seen – Bucky looks away at every poster they pass with his face stuck on it, putting on an air of calm and ease – but the low dusk lighting and the few people about on the streets mean they reach Toro's block without incident. They speed up the stairs, Toro fumbles with his key-card, but at last they're inside and finally they can do what they really want to.

Always the more eager in these moments, Bucky has them both shirtless before Toro can even put his card in the electricity slot, kissing him blind as his hands roam over burning skin. It doesn't take long for Toro to catch up though, and it's him who pulls Bucky over to the bed before they fall into their respective roles. Even after just two months they know intrinsically how the other reacts: which spots to tease and linger over with tongues or teeth, how much pressure to exert here or there, and where not to go if you don't want to be kicked or slapped. They can laugh and smile between kisses, mutually agree on when to change the pace, and Toro will pull a face when Bucky whispers filthy nothings in his ear because he never means any of it, he just thinks it's funny. And while it isn't wild and rough, it's not what you'd call romantic and tender, either, but when it satisfies a need and gives the impression of normality between them it can hardly been described as meaningless. This also goes unspoken.

Bucky lies half on-top of Toro afterwards, head resting on the pillow between head and shoulder, arm slung over his midsection, soaking up the warmth. Under the thin blanket he has one knee crossed over the other's, stretching him out a little, and it's in these aftermaths that he feels so completely relaxed – so much so, that Toro's question fails to register until he half-shouts it down Bucky's ear.

"Have you thought of a plan to sort out your arm yet?"

Sighing, Bucky glances at the arm being referenced: the tattooed rights of ownership are exposed over Toro's stomach, and seeing the difference in their colourings – the black scrawl ruining smooth, unmarked softness – almost physically hurts. He wants to cover it up, hide the words and that fucking star like he always does, but that would upset Toro (the only person outside of his hell to have seen it), so he settles for closing his eyes. "Yeah. But you're not gonna like it."

"Tell me anyway?"

There's the option not to, but with the infrequency with which they see each other keeping secrets from Toro feels… risky. Unforgiveable. Like nobody will ever know him beyond being a tool and a picture on a wanted poster. One of his nightmares involves him promising to tell Toro something, then being dragged back without getting to say it, knowing that Toro will be forever waiting and wondering – so he swallows, steels himself, and forces it out. "There's a guy in the Resistance," he begins slowly, "some sort of engineer – he's good with robotics."

Toro eyes him suspiciously. "Bucky…"

"It's the only way! I've heard stuff about tattoo removals, how they leave scars and irreparable damage to nerves or muscles because the Resistance doesn't have the right tools, but if I get the entire thing removed and replaced I can just tell people it was an accident from somewhere else."

Propping himself up on his elbow, Toro stares down at him. "You're having your arm amputated?" he says in disbelief.

"And replaced."

"With what? A bit of tin and tape?"

"No," Bucky growls. "I told you, this engineer can help me. He builds stuff like… what I'd need. It would work like a real arm and everything, just it'd be made of metal."

He's being frowned at. "Are you really sure that's a good idea?" Toro asks. "I mean, what if people saw through the lie? Your face still looks like the one in the poster – cutting your hair hasn't changed that, neither will losing an arm."

"Well what do you suggest?" he snaps, pushing himself into a sitting position. "Getting the tattoo off would be too long and too painful, and there would still be reminders left behind. And at least with a fake arm it'll be harder for Karpov to claim that I was ever his because it's not on the posters. Toro, please, don't try and dissuade me from this. I've really thought about it, and I've made up my mind. If you think it'll… interfere with us, then…" Trailing off, he ducks his head, hooking both arms around his drawn-up, blanketed knees. Toro's reaction hadn't, in all honesty, crossed his mind – sure, he knew he'd never like it, but Bucky hadn't considered it would mean stopping what they had, potentially for good.

A hand settles at the back of his neck, fingers playing with his hair, and then there's the feel of warm, soft lips being pressed to the spot behind his ear. "It wouldn't," Toro whispers. "If that kind of thing bothered me, you think I'd be friends with someone like Jim?" His fingers are moving in circles at his hairline, and Bucky feels himself unconsciously relaxing into the motion.

"You could introduce me to him," he says, sounding half asleep already. "When it's safe to do so, I mean. When it looks like we can be normal."

Toro chuckles. "He'd like that. There's always the chance that he'd recognise you, but he isn't the kind of guy to hand friends over."

"You sound pretty confident that we'd be friends."

"Jim won't hate someone without good reason." Bucky turns to him with a raised eyebrow, and he shrugs. "Personal experience, he said."

"He was hired with you, right?"

Toro nods. "I'll be forever in his debt for that."

"Really?" Bucky snorts.

An indignant look crosses the face next to him. "Yes," Toro snaps. "If it wasn't for Jim, I wouldn't have met you, because I wouldn't have had a place in the Vulcan Corps – I'd have been a slave too, probably in some other weapons factory on the other side of the country, sold for entertainment the moment somebody realised I could do this." He clicks his fingers to conjure a small but fierce flame (just like him, Bucky thinks), extinguishing it after a second of letting it fizzle between them. "Jim is like a mentor to me," he continues, "and if the Leader succeeds in getting Johnny Storm in his ranks I have no doubt that he'd be like a brother. Think about it: won't you be grateful to this guy who's gonna fix you up a metal arm, who's gonna make it so you can more or less be free?"

Feeling the words hit him in his stomach, Bucky slumps back against the wall, picking at the edge of the blanket. "I guess," he mumbles.

"Right. So one day you'll know how gratitude feels," Toro concludes, and without another word he tucks himself back into bed, turning so his back is to Bucky.

Bucky watches him for a minute before sliding down as well, snaking his arms around Toro's waist and kissing the base of his neck, nose brushing the soft strands of dark hair. Truth is, he can't remember if he's ever told Toro how much he appreciates what they have; for all he knows he's said it already, but with his head re-setting itself every month he's given up searching for lost things. "Tell me how we met."

A second later, Toro scoffs lightly. "You've not forgotten again, have you?" Bucky swallows and nods, feels the young man tense briefly in his hold then settle more firmly against him. "It was at the Resistance rally," Toro begins quietly, "the one led by Steve Rogers. Jim and I were sent to disperse the crowd, but things turned ugly and people started getting hurt. I wanted to help, so Jim suggested I pick one person and get them to safety." His next words are said around a grin. "Trust me to find the one guy who didn't want to go to a hospital."

"It's needles," Bucky mutters into his neck. "Never liked 'em." Toro laughs softly. "What did I say?"

"Well, you were cursing a lot, and clutching your side. Someone had pushed you into the edge of a truck, and as a result you had some pretty bust-up ribs underneath a nice big cut. When you refused to let me take you to a medical facility I had to find out how to patch you up before infection set in, so you were my… 'guest' for a couple of days. You said all sorts in that time: blathering on about Steve, the assembly line, punishment, freedom fighting, some girl named Rebecca or Rikki, I couldn't tell. Anyway, after bleeding and sweating on my sheets for almost two weeks you started to get better, and right before your fever broke you told me I was the cutest guy you'd ever seen." There's another smile in his voice, and Bucky finds himself smiling too. "Couldn't shake you after that."

"Karpov's been looking for me for a while, right?"

Toro nods again. "Don't suppose you remember how you escaped?"

All he remembers from slavery is how to build a sniper rifle, how to slot it together so it feels seamless, how to make it work fluidly. He could probably dismantle and reassemble one faster than the people who use them. "Not a clue."

"Maybe this engineer guy knows someone who could fix your brain too," Toro says, twisting round to knock him lightly on the head. Bucky chuckles, pulling him closer when the same hand links with his (a bare, flawless arm over the nearly-black one). "Are you going to stay tomorrow?"

He shakes his head. "I need to find this Stark guy. I want it sorted as soon as possible."

"You'll be careful, won't you?"

Grinning broadly, Bucky leans in for a deep kiss, revelling once more in the warmth that seems to spread from Toro into him – and as much as he wants to stay and hold onto that feeling, the idea of remaining in a dead apartment until Toro returns from work just doesn't appeal. "You know me," he says, and Toro rolls his eyes.

"That's why I'm asking," he points out, and Bucky pulls him even closer as he laughs into his hair.

* * *

The operating theatre is an underground bunker with a table and some stolen medical equipment in it. There are a handful of doctors – not all of them medically trained – and Tony Stark. Steve Rogers is behind him, a hand at the small of his back, and he introduces Bucky to them one by one; Bruce Banner, Betty Ross, Hank Pym, Jane Foster, and Hank McCoy. McCoy's assurance that the blue fur was his own fault is not, as he probably intended it to be, very comforting, neither are the leather straps that are pulled across his shirtless torso with an apologetic smile from Foster. He's starting to get flashes of his inking, memories of brutes holding him down hard enough to bruise as the ownership rights were carved into his flesh. He swallows, trying to control his breathing, and then Steve's there.

"They really do know what they're doing," he says confidently, a look of total belief and surety in his eyes. "You're in very good hands, Bucky. They're going to do all they can for you." A red-headed woman then appears next to him, whispering quickly in his ear, and Steve promises to be back in a moment. As he watches them leave, Bucky feels the needle go in, hears Ross talking about rationed anaesthetic and that he might start coming round towards the end of the procedure but they would be as fast as safely possible. Bucky closes his eyes tightly, feels himself tiring even as his heart rate goes up, and he clenches his right fist to stop himself shaking like a leaf – and then someone's squeezing it back, and they feel very, very warm. Bucky opens his eyes.

"Hi."

Toro. Toro's here. Is he? He hasn't seen him in weeks. Looks like him. Could be the drugs, though. Either way, Bucky grins lopsidedly, feels his hand unclench slowly, someone else's fingers threading through his. "Hi…"

"You ready?" Toro asks.

Bucky laughs weakly. "Hell no," he slurs, vaguely aware of the machines beeping and whirring in the distance, and someone who looks like Steve standing at the edge of his vision. "But it'll be worth it. Won't it?" he asks, suddenly unsure.

"'Course it will," Toro insists, still smiling. His free hand brushes the side of Bucky's face, soothing him almost instantly. "I'm gonna be right here, Buck," he whispers. "Not going anywhere 'til I know you're okay."

"But… work…?"

"Jim's covering for me."

He chuckles. "Good ol' Jim… Gotta be grateful…"

"Yeah, we do." Toro kisses his forehead. "You can relax now."


End file.
